New Technology
by soulnecklace
Summary: Ash has a new job. But selling shoes is harder than it looks, especially when your co-workers treat you like dirt..


**Sorry I've not written anything for a while, been busy on The Novel! Yay, finished the draft and now I am free!**

**This here is a new take on an old story. Appreciate feedback and comments, as always.**

**Enjoy...**

**New Technology**

"You're the new girl, ain't ya?" She chewed her gum slowly, staring at me. She didn't seem to blink much.

"Hi!" I held out my hand. "I'm Ashleigh."

"Ashleigh, eh?" She moved the gum to the other cheek and stared at my hand. "Think I'll call you Ash. Its shorter."

My hand fell back to my side.

"Hey, Zelda," she called, still staring at me. "It's the new girl."

Out from the back came another girl, pushing the curtains apart with a white shoulder.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi. I'm Ashleigh."

"We'll call her Ash, though," said the gum-chewer.

Zelda stared at me intently. Tall and skinny, with her white-skin and black-hair, she looked kind of like a zombie. An alive zombie, that doesn't shamble and eat flesh. Like an extra, in a zombie movie. I realized I was staring back.

"So, Ash," said gum-chewer. "This here's the shop. We sell shoes, ok. We put shoes on people's feet. We get shoes from out the back, put them on display. When we run out, we order more. That's what we do. Okay?"

I nodded.

The shop was called "Charming" and the dot above the i was a crown. You've probably heard of them; they're in most high-end shopping malls. The Charming Brands, they're called: Charming Shoes, Charming Furniture, Charming Fragrance, even Charming Travel, which specializes in travel to romantic destinations. The sort of places that have rivers and woods and big stone castles. There's a feel to the Charming Brands – kind of old-fashioned, almost fairytale, but with an edge of technology and glamour. They don't do whitewear or electronics. There's nothing fairytale about a fridge.

This was my first job on leaving school. I'd been desperate to get away from my teachers for two years, but Mum had done a deal – stick to school until I'm sixteen and she'll buy me a car. And on my sixteenth birthday, she handed me the keys and I started looking for jobs.

I hadn't realized how hard it would be to find work. The only thing I could find was dead-end hospo jobs – waitressing in grotty burger bars and delivering pizzas. Mum put a stop to the pizza delivery. She said it was dangerous. I argued with her, on principle, but I knew she was right. Going into the lift wells of some of the student dives around town, waiting for the lift to come chugging down was pretty freaky. Besides, the petrol was expensive. So when I'd seen the advertisement for a shoe shop I was kind of excited.

Excited, until I met my colleagues. Zombie-fied Zelda and Gum-chewing Bernice. Bernice chewed gum all the time. I never saw her putting a fresh stick in her mouth. Just chew chew chew on the same old piece.

Charming Shoes was a franchise and Bernice's mother was sleeping with the franchise owner, Norman. A short man with shiny-smooth hair, he wasn't much to look at. He fancied himself as a businessman; he walked around with a blue-tooth receiver clamped to his head. Norman owned a couple of Charming Shoes in different malls and was hardly ever at our store. So Bernice seemed to feel she was the Queen of the Charming Shoe store and Zelda was her side-kick. Which left me as the maid-of-all work. I did the vacuuming, the dusting. Washed the dishes. And sold the shoes. The other girls watched, commented, and told me what to do.

"Ash!" Bernice was pouring over photos of glamorous models on a red carpet. Her bare feet were up on a stool. She always wore really high-heels to work, but she had a bunion and the rock-star shoes hurt her feet. "Customers! Go!"

It was my break time, not hers. But she was the boss. Or she thought she was the boss, which amounts to pretty much the same thing.

"Can't Zelda?"

"She's out the back. Doing the stock-take. There's some new stock just in."

Zelda was always out the back. I sighed, put down the magazine and went into the store.

An older woman with white-blond hair and a leopard-skin business suit was eyeing the merchandise.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

She smiled at me, her smooth forehead barely moving. "What a pretty child you are!"

Um. Thanks. I guess. "Are you looking for anything special?"

"No, not really. I'm just…looking." She studied me carefully. "You're new here, aren't you?"

I nodded. "I started last month."

"Ah. I thought there was something different." She ran a finger over a glass shelf. "Look! It's clean!"

I smiled.

"I'm going to a dance." The store lights glinted on the stones on her wrist, her fingers. "There's a man. Much younger than I. Much younger. He's quite lovely, in fact. And I'm looking for something to wear."

"Heels," I said. "But not too high, or you might twist your ankle. That's not a good look."

"No. Not smart at all."

"And sparkly," I said, looking at her jewelry. "Something with rhinestones, maybe? Or sequins?"

"Sequins! Oh yes."

"Please, have a seat. I'll measure you up, then see what we have."

I tried not to think about a younger man with this, this cougar. She looked about the same age as my Mum, but so much better maintained. Not a nice thing to think about your Mum, but its true. I was always nagging Mum to put more make-up on, to get her hair cut. Wear nicer clothes. But she'd just smile and shake her head and say she had other things she needed to spend her money on. There's no reasoning with Mum. She's more stubborn than me.

Still, cougar-woman looked pleasant enough, and she seemed real polite. She looked like she had plenty of money. Maybe I could sell her something expensive, make my sales target for the month. We all have sales targets. I'm the only one that makes mine – the others can't be bothered.

"You're a size nine," I said.

I took a few boxes of sparkly high-heels over to her, but she shook her head. She was looking for something special. Something that _sang_.

The shop was empty, but for this lady, so there was nothing urgent. I sat back on my little stool, stared up the customer. "What are you going to wear to the dance?"

She pulled at her skirt, looking suddenly nervous. "I was thinking, this."

"A suit?" I said "Oh no."

"I always wear leopard print."

"Tell me about the dance. Where is it?"

"At the Castle."

I nearly chocked. "At the Castle? Are you talking about the Charming Ball?"

"Why, yes. Have you heard of it?"

Have I heard of the Charming Ball? Of course I have. Every year the Charming Stores have a full-on ball: long dresses, candles, and an orchestra. The works. All the rich and famous go to it. And every year, the top franchises and the top sales-people are invited. Zelda and Bernice were hoping for an invitation. They were dreaming.

"You _can't_ wear leopard print to a ball."

"Why not?"

"Stay there," I said. "I'll be right back."

I barged out the back, grabbed Zelda's magazine – it was our store one, called _A Charming Life_ - from her fingers. She hissed at me. I ignored her.

I passed the _Life_ to the customer. "There are photos of the ball in here. Have a look."

Another customer – a mother and a whining daughter – came into the store. I went to serve them, while my cougar-customer looked through the photographs. The whining daughter seemed happy enough with the design sneakers (the same as the one from the discount store, but with an extra logo added) and mum and daughter went away happy.

I went back to the cougar lady. "What do you think?"

"I think," she said seriously, "that I need to go shopping."

"Tell you what," I looked around quickly to see if Zelda or Bernice were watching, "Take the magazine."

"Are you sure?"

"Quick. Pop it your bag." I rolled it up into a tube, pocked it into her velvet bag. It looked big enough to hold lots of magazines. "You can show the photos to the store assistant."

"Thank you," she said. "You've been very kind."

"Come back when you've decided on a dress. The shoes should always match the dress, shouldn't they?" I stopped. Thought about that for a moment. "Although," I added carefully, "there's some new stock just in. And one of them might just work for you. I'll have a look out the back."

Zelda was smoking. She ignored me, just stared up at the cigarette smoke, watched it twist and curl into the air. Was she on drugs? Or was she just really really bored?

"They are new arrivals," I said to the customer. They were hideously expensive. I mean, hideous. And we are a high-end store, so hideous means lots and lots and lots of money. But they really would go with anything. And they sparkled, glittered. They looked fabulous. Not too high; but high enough. The person wearing these shoes could dance on, forever.

"They're made of a new bio-illuminate," I said. "There's an article about them in that magazine I gave you. They conform to your feet, so they grow more comfortable the more you wear them." I took one out of the box, held it up to the light. "What do you think?" I turned it; light sparked from it, refracting into rainbows. "Aren't they pretty?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Oh yes. They're beautiful. And you're right. They would go with anything. Please. Can I try them on?"

"Of course. We have them in just your size."

It's a wonderful moment when a hard-to-please customer finds exactly what they want. It's a relief, of course, for the shop assistant, but it's also a satisfaction; like helping someone achieve a goal.

My cougar lady slipped her feet into the glass slipper and smiled. She glowed. "Oh, my!" she said. "I could dance to heaven and back in these! How much are they?"

"Ah, they're quite expensive," I said.

"You can't sell those," said Zelda, emerging from the curtain like something from the Addams Family. "Bernice wants them."

Hearing her name, Bernice came storming out. "You can't sell those. They're mine."

My poor customer stood there, while the other staff yelled at me. "You're hopeless! Never thinking of others! Don't know why we put up with you! Just waits until Norman finds out!"

Finally the customer cleared her throat. The diamonds on her wrist and fingers gleamed. "My dears," she said. "Far be it from me to take away your toys." She stepped her feet from the shoes, passed them to me. "There are other stores," she said. "Somewhere, I will find another pair."

She put on her own shoes and walked away. I've never felt as sad as that moment. How stupid is that? They're only shoes. It's not as though she'd had food taken from her, or something important. But when she had tried on the glass slipper, she had looked so happy. For a moment, it seemed, she'd found something that was absolutely right. It's not often you find those moments. You need to hold onto them.

Zelda and Bernice watched her go.

Bernice gathered up the shoes and stuffed them back in the box, scattering wrapping paper and packing. "There's a real mess here now. You'd better clean up, Ash. And where's my magazine?"

"I gave it away," I said. "And do your own damn cleaning. I'm on my break."

**_To be continued..._**


End file.
